


We ain't ever getting older

by impossibletruths



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Chance Meetings, Everyone is Dead, F/M, Future Fic, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 12:12:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8667109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossibletruths/pseuds/impossibletruths
Summary: When Keyleth visits Vasselheim, she doesn’t expect to run into an impossibly old friend. But Vesh is a vain and demanding goddess, and will not let her follower die, not when he is the only one, the only thing granting her power.or, Kash and Keyleth get a drink, just like old times.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://luxheroica.tumblr.com/post/153203480470/we-were-talking-about-what-our-aberrant-characters) on tumblr, set approximately 300 years down the line. Ideally canon-compliant.
> 
> Title from "Closer" by the Chainsmokers.
> 
> tw for vague suicidal ideation and the horror of outliving everything and everyone you ever knew

It comes to pass, through an unexpected series of events, that Keyleth arrives in Vasselheim on a cloudy weekday in early Fall.

It looks much like it did when she first visited the ancient bastion of civilization some two, three hundred years ago. The peoples of the city are still grim and weathered; the walls are still manned by guards in a mix of armors, each sworn to their god. She recognizes the dark uniform of those who serve the Raven Queen with a bittersweet twinge of fondness, and the followers of Kord with a swell of amusement. She weathers their stares as she passes, head held high, headdress adorned with fall foliage. She is golden autumn today, at odds with the grey solemnity of the city. Even the temples of stone and metal glint with a different vibrance than the thrum of life she carries with her. The air here here presses down, heavy with age in a way she finds unbecoming of the element. But, this is not her land nor her city. She has picked the hills upon which to stake her flag. This is not one of them.

She has business with the Highbearer at the temple of the Platinum Dragon today. She seeks guidance for one of her own, a young one who reminds her very much of a headstrong paladin woman she knew once, who needs the sort of guidance and faith Keyleth has never been able to offer herself. Once, she would have fought against it, but she has learned and grown during the long turn of the years and knows better now.

The meeting itself is short, brusque, settled. The boy is free to come to study, so long as the tribe vouches for him. She tries not to worry too much––their sister tribe in the mountains will be able to keep an eye on him.

Afterwards, when she has escaped the immediate shadow of the mountain, Keyleth takes a moment to breathe; she ducks between two buildings and closes her eyes, braced against the wall, and reminds her lungs to keep up their steady work. She forces her hands to unclench from their sides. She lets the tension fall away from her shoulders, discarded like a cloak.

For two hundred years she has been leading her people, and she still finds herself gripped by anxiety. One more old pain to live with, she supposes. The bad days are worse without her friends, but Scanlan still visits sometimes, older and just as full of himself as he always has been, though he wears his persona like an old robe: comfortably but worn through in places, the man beneath shining out. As for the others, well. Some days are easier than others. But that’s just the way of things.

She is slipping out of the alley, straightening her headdress––it would not do for the Headmaster of the Air Ashari to be seen skulking around the city, especially not in disarray––when she hears a familiar voice.

Immediately, she dismisses it. That would be impossible. She knows the lifespans of humans too well, to hear his voice now, two hundred years after he should be dead, that would be––

“Can you hurry up? Please? We haven’t got all day. Well, I have, but I’d like to be paid before the bars open, if you don’t mind.”

Keyleth finds her feet dragging her along without a second thought, soft leather pounding against the hard-packed earth, pace quickening until she is nearly running down the street, and she does not care for the stares following her or the way her robes flare out behind her––it is like being young again, being careless and wild and even among the pressure and the danger they were so _free_ ––and she spins around the corner and skids to a stop because there is––

“Kashaw?”

The brown-haired man in the golden armor turns around.

It is him. She’d recognize him anywhere, the mismatched eyes and the scars and that old spear and the shining armor and the dour look, except he looks anything but dour, he looks shocked, he looks awed, he looks as confused as he always does, he looks––

He looks like the best thing she’s seen in a while.

“Keyleth?” he says, voice just as flat and broad and rough as she remembers, and she crosses the last few feet to him with a laugh and wraps him in a hug before he can protest, because she never thought to see him again but here he is, standing before her, just as she remembers him, young and whole and caught somewhere between confusion and irritation and Keyleth is so happy she could kiss him.

“What are you––“

“How––“

They both start at the same time, and Keyleth pulls back a little and pushes her headdress up, self-conscious in a way she hasn't been in some time. Kashaw stares at her, from the antlers to her boots, and seems at a loss for words.

“How are you–– Half-elves don’t live _that_ long,” he says, and seems almost to expect her to argue with him. Keyleth pushes her hair out of her face.

“It’s an Ashari thing,” she explains. “I’m the Headmaster, I–– it’s complicated, I suppose, but I don’t age. Not like… like them, I suppose.” She gestures to his companions, taking them in belatedly. There’s a dragonborn, and a half-elf, and a pair of halflings, all staring at her. She smooths her skirts and straightens her back.

“Right,” says Kashaw slowly.

“But you,” Keyleth says, gesturing to him. “You’re human, how did you–– how are you––“ She stumbles to a stop as his face darkens, and takes a breath. She is the Headmaster of the Ashari. She can conduct herself as such. She doesn’t know what it is about him that leaves her words a confused jumble.

Well, she has some idea, but it’s a distant thought at the moment.

“Are you in the middle of a contract?” she asks the group. “I apologize for interrupting.”

The formality, if anything, seems to throw Kash more.

“What? No, we just finished. I–– Djarl, bring that shit back to the Take. You can split my share, and if anyone gives you crap tell them to come deal with me.”

“I–– Yes, Brother Kash,” says one of the halflings, gripping a dripping bag of… Keyleth doesn’t want to know. The group treks off, casting glances over their shoulders as they go, before they turn around the corner and disappear. Kash seems to sag.

“Would you like a drink?” he offers, everything about him radiating exhaustion. It’s his old standard, though, a drink and a little stilted but oddly honest conversation, and Keyleth finds herself smiling at the familiarity.

“I’d love one.”

The Bellow’s Respite has changed in the past couple hundred years, but the sign hanging above the door still bears the same name, and the barman may not be Once-Lucky Ned but he’s a bustling man with the same rusty hair and when Kash orders a pair of ales he brings them with a wink and a hearty thanks for Keyleth’s tip. Kash raises an eyebrow.

“Still rich?”

“Still a princess,” she replies. “Sort of.” They clink glasses and drink.

“Look,” says Kash when he sets his drink down. “This is weird.”

“Yeah,” Keyleth agrees. “Shouldn’t you be dead? No offense.”

“Oh, yeah,” he agrees. “Totally. Like, a a couple hundred years ago or something.”

“So, why aren’t you?” asks Keyleth, remembering a rogue in dark leathers with a goddess’ hand on his shoulder with a frown. Kash matches her expression, mouth twisting around, and he takes another long drink.

“My wife,” he says. He drops the words delicately between them, sharp and angry, and they hang there. Keyleth purses her lips.

“She’s… keeping you alive?”

“She doesn’t want to lose her one follower,” he says, skin tight around his eyes. “Who can blame her? She’s such a kind and merciful goddess after all.” He winces, and flexes his arm. The scars shift against his skin, pale white lines stark against his sun-tanned skin. Keyleth’s frown deepens.

“That can’t be–– I mean, the Raven Queen, surely she isn’t–– Unless you’re, um.” Gods, she wishes she could string words together like… well, like anyone else. Three hundred years and he’s still doing this to her. “Kash, is this something you want?”

Kashaw laughs, and it reminds her of another man laughing, tied to a goddess of death, except his lady was fair and faithful and Kashaw’s is anything but.

“No,” says Kash darkly. “I never wanted this.”

Keyleth stares at him. He takes a drink.

“It was hard,” she says slowly. “Watching them all waste away.”

Kashaw drinks again.

“And watching things change,” she continues. “The world isn’t what it was. People, countries, inventions… Legacies changing and remade by those who never knew the truth.”

“I don’t want this,” Kashaw mumbles towards his drink, and Keyleth’s chest aches.

She, at least, knew it was coming. Neither of them had much of a choice, though.

“Why are you here?” she asks him. He shrugs.

“It’s what I knew. The Take’ll house me, feed me. There’s shit to fight. It could be worse. I get stuck with the newbies a lot but, well, I guess they need someone to keep an eye on them, right?”

Keyleth thinks of the young ones in the tribe, headstrong and so sure of their eternal youth, and smiles in spite of herself.

“Yes,” she agrees. “I suppose they do.”

“But it’s not––“ He stops himself short and takes a long, long drink. When he sets his drink down, it’s empty. He flags one of the serving girls down for another. “I miss Z,” he says quietly, and Keyleth feels her heart crack.

“I know,” she says, because she does, better than anyone. He meets her eyes and smiles, a crooked and sharp thing, like shattered glass.

“Never really saw the point of immortality,” he says. “Always figured it would suck a lot. Turns out, I was right.”

“Yeah,” says Keyleth. The girl brings his ale and they both drink.

Keyleth sets her drink down and forces her shoulders to relax.

“Kash,” she says gently. He looks back at her.

“Glad to see you, Keyleth,” he says, far too open and honest. It makes her heart catch in her chest. “Nice to know it’s not only me.”

“Scanlan’s still kicking around,” she says with a small smile. “I’m sure he’d love to visit.”

“Oh, great. The gnome can come set me up with someone again.”

“Again?”

“He tried to get me and Vax together. It didn’t work.”

Keyleth can't help but grin. “Obviously.”

Kashaw raises an eyebrow. “What, you and broody make a go of things?”

“For a while. Enjoy what you have when you have it, and all that. Vex was very insistent on living life to the fullest.”

“Guess you gotta hold on when you know you’re gonna shuffle off one day,” he replies, and his wry amusement fades back to a grim stubbornness. Keyleth sighs.

“Do you hate it here that much?”

“No,” he replies easily, and sighs. “I mean, it hurts, yeah, and I don’t like it all that much, but I don’t know where else I’d go. Not like I’ve got a lot of options. I was never big on adventuring, you know.”

“I thought you liked killing stuff?”

“From the comfort of my own home, sure. What you do, out on the road, that’s no life for me.”

“You know,” says Keyleth, an idea forming even as she speaks it aloud, “I don’t live out on the road anymore.”

Kashaw’s eyebrows slowly lift, and his expression slowly shifts. It's not awe, and not wry, but it's something between the two.

“Princess with a kingdom, huh?” he says, sounding appreciative, and Keyleth thinks it is mostly his old bravado and finds she has missed it all these years. “You’ve really got it all. Looks, money, power. The works. Good for you. One of us should get something out of this shit.”

“It’s not that much,” she says with a laugh. “Just my tribe. It’s simple living. Sometimes there’s stuff to kill. Mostly there’s just work. But, if you want to try somewhere else for a bit––“

“Are you… inviting me home?”

“A long life can be a lonely one, but it doesn’t have to be,” says Keyleth. “That’s what Dad used to say, anyways. And Vex too, I suppose, though she was usually more impatient about it. I’m just saying… I mean, only if you’re interested. I’d be happy to, y’know. Show you my kingdom.”

“Is that a euphemism?” Kash asks, and Keyleth flushes pink.

“What? No! I mean––“

“Because if you’re offering––“

“Kash!”

“I’ll let you think on it,” he says with a grin that is nothing like Scanlan’s leering smiles but honest and amused, and Keyleth shakes her head at him and remembers a kiss and a sacrifice made many, many years ago, and smiles softly.

“Is that a yes?” she asks him, when he keeps staring at her, expression fond. “Are you–– Do you want to come home with me?”

She realizes what she said a moment after she says it and takes a hasty gulp from her drink, hiding her blush behind the tankard. Kashaw laughs.

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s not like I was doing anything worthwhile here. Might be nice to see somewhere else for a bit.”

“It’ll be here later, if you change your mind,” Keyleth agrees. “I mean, it’s Vasselheim. It’ll be here forever.”

“Just like me,” Kash jokes, and it falls flat.

“We’ll figure something out,” Keyleth tells him. “If it’s not what you want… we’ll figure it out.” Endings aren’t always bad things, she has learned. Plenty must end for new things to begin; the mulch of old dead things gives birth to the fresh sprouts of spring.

“Careful,” says Kash, wry and dark. “You’ll bring Her wrath down upon you.”

“She’s welcome to try,” Keyleth replies, and for a moment power crackles along her skin, and the air thrums, and she is a thing of life incarnate, of growing things, of the fertile earth and the quick-changing winds and the slow wear of water and the fire through which things must pass to be born anew, and Kashaw stares.

Vesh is welcome to try to hurt what she has claimed as her own, but the goddess will have to go through her first, and Keyleth has fought dragons and monsters and gods. One more does not frighten her.

“Right,” says Kashaw, staring at her with something akin to awe, and Keyleth reigns it in.

“Just–– We’ll figure it out,” she repeats, and Kashaw nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I guess we will.”

They finish their drinks, and pause only long enough for Kashaw to stop by the Take and inform the man sitting behind the desk that he’s leaving. He shoulders his rucksack and trails her as she strides through the city, armor chiming and clanging in a familiar sort of way, and it warms her heart to hear it.

They leave Vasselheim through a tree in the Abundant Terrace, the trunk splitting like an arch to let them through, and on the other side she sees the familiar forest, and buildings within the clearing, and home. They pass through one at a time, and it closes behind them with a hiss.

Keyleth steps out to familiar faces, excited and curious, and something in her chest loosens to see them all still here, all still safe, an anxiety momentarily soothed that she knows will never truly leave her

At her side, Kashaw takes a deep breath in the clean, clear mountain air, and the tension rolls off his shoulders, replaced by a discomfort still familiar to her hundreds of years later. Some things never change. She smiles at him and reaches out to squeeze his hand. His fingers tighten around her own, and the look on his face shifts again to quiet relief.

“We’ll figure it out together,” she promises him and he nods once, determined, as they turn to greet her people.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr at [teammompike](http://teammompike.tumblr.com)


End file.
